


that was that

by listentotheink



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 05:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listentotheink/pseuds/listentotheink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soccer player Louis Tomlinson takes Burberry Model boyfriend for dinner.</p><p>This is just a quick little thing I wrote when I saw the AU on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that was that

One minute it wasn’t and the next it was, and that’s how their whole relationship has been, really, when Louis thinks about it. If he thinks about it further, it’s actually how their lives have been. One minute he wasn’t in a single parent household taking care of his sisters while pursuing football and the next he was. One minute he wasn’t gay and had a beautiful girlfriend and the next minute he was and had an equally beautiful Burberry model for a boyfriend. So yeah. One minute it wasn’t and one minute it was and that was that.

 

He wasn’t quite sure how it happened, really. He never was sure how anything in his life happened. He just wanted a laugh half the time, and to be a footy player the other half. Luckily, his mum had supported both sides and pressed him into going to practice even when he hated it and never wanted to leave his bed. Even when he didn’t want to pause his game of Skyrim so he could go out and kick the ball about in his back garden. When he came out to her, she was equally as supportive, and he became the first openly gay soccer player in the Premiere League, which was a feat in itself. Him making the team. One minute he was at the tryout and the next he was handed a jersey and a contract, and agents were calling him sometimes four times a day and he was a success and he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

And that’s what he’s thinking about as he tugs his cleats off and rolls his socks down his calves, smiling to himself as he throws them into his practice bag. How he’s just coming up on scoring his thirtieth goal for the team, even though he’s only been with them for just less than a year, and how that’s a really big deal for him being a rookie.

“Hey, Tomlinson!” one of them shouts from the showers just as Louis pulls his jersey over his head. He replaces it with his favorite, a soft blue t-shirt that Harry says makes him look a bit mischievous when he’s got his hair up in a quiff.

“Yeah?” he calls, standing and switching his shorts for white trousers and pulling on Vans sneakers, trying not to face-plant into the bench across from him.

“We’re going down to the pub for drinks,” the same voice shouts back. “Want to join us?”

Louis smiles at the offer, but knows he has to decline.

“Can’t mate.” he says, shouldering his bag and pulling aviators down from over his head. “I’ve got dinner reservations over at Rosso’s. It’s our one year today.”

“Just don’t pull any muscles in your bum!” Another jokes, throwing a sweaty towel at Louis’ head. “We’ve got a tournament coming up and we need you, Tommo!”

“Oh please.” Louis said with a smirk. “You really think that I let him top? No thanks, mate.”

And with that, he leaves the locker room with a bright smile, and steps out into the August sun. A few fans have hung around outside the stadium for the day, so he signs autographs and takes pictures before he gets into Harry’s Range Rover that he took for the day, and sets off home.

 

When he unlocks the door to his flat, it’s to find it exactly as it was as he left. There are clothes from the night before lying about on the floor, resting in the same spots they had landed after having been stripped off in the white heat of promised sex. There was an empty pizza box on the coffee table, and a lanky, six foot three boy sprawled out on the couch in nothing but a pair of black jeans that looked like he painted them on his legs.

Louis set his practice bag down in the hallway, and moves to start cleaning the floor. Usually, he doesn’t mind leaving a few things around, but these clothes were dirty and smelled like Funky Buddha Bathroom blow jobs and he really didn’t feel like having them left about. So he picked them up and threw them in the laundry, to be dealt with later, before returning to the living room and sitting in the space between Harry’s legs and the back of the couch, flipping the telly on to whatever Harry had been watching before collapsing onto the couch. Because this was his “collapsed” look, believe it or not.

Normally, when you think of collapsed, you don’t picture someone lying, angelically on their stomach without a shirt on. You think of someone passed out, maybe foaming at the mouth, eyes rolled back in their head. But no. Louis gets to come home to this man, who’s all arms and torso and tanned skin. And he loves it.

Its hard for him to believe that it’s been a year since they had met at the Burberry Fall Collection fashion show. Hard to believe that Louis had spent his free time looking at the face he was destined to fall in love with on the pages of magazines. Hard to believe that one minute, Harry was just a name, and the next Louis was in love with the person the name hid. But they were in love, and today was their anniversary and Louis was ready for it.

“Hazbear.” he said quietly, running his hand up the back of the younger man’s thigh gently. “Hazza... Time to get up you silly sleepy boy.”

“Not a boy.” Harry says sleepily as Louis pats him on the bum twice. He’s got red scratch marks on his back and Louis smirks, knowing that he is as equally marked. He’d got this piss taken by the lads, but. It was worth it, for them to know that he was having wild sex on his nights off. “Have to be a man to keep up with you.”

“Was that insult or innuendo?” Louis says, wrinkling his nose. “Because either way, that was quite shit. Not quite on your game yet, love.”

He leans down then, and rests his head against the back of Harry’s right shoulder. Harry turns his head to face him and smiles, all dimples and bright green eyes, before he pouts his lips.

“Not until you brush your teeth, darling.” he says with a smile, pressing his lips to Harry’s nose.

“Tease.” Harry grumbles, closing his eyes again. “Let me sleep another hour or two.”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, darling.” Louis traces a teasing finger down Harry’s arm, across his shoulders and down the center of his back, pausing just above the waistband of his trousers. “It’s our anniversary, don’t you know? I’ve got a res for us at Rosso’s. I know you love it there.”

“I don’t even get a kiss for our anniversary?” Harry says, still pouting. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Sex drive of a fourteen year old.” He says to himself, but not really to himself, earning him a swat on the nose with one of Harry’s fingertips. “Hey. It’s a fair statement.”

“Kiss.” Harry says.

“Brush your teeth.” Louis says with a smile, kissing him on the nose. “Then I’ll think about it. I have to go shower.”

“You didn’t shower with your teammates?” Harry asks, quirking an eyebrow. Louis shakes his head.

“I figured you would do a better job at washing my hair than I could.” he says with a wink and a shrug. It takes a minute, but then Harry realizes what he said, and then Louis is being knocked off balance and lifted into the arms of a six foot three, horny mass of tousled curls and being carried into the bathroom with an indignant squawk.

 

Louis thinks he’s quite lucky to have Harry as his. He thinks it every single day, on multiple occasions. He thinks it in the mornings when he’s woken up with a kiss and a brew, he thinks it. When he’s got the taller boy wrapping his arms around him when he can’t sleep at night, he thinks it. When he reads comments about their relationship and how beautiful Harry is, he thinks it. When Harry is seated behind the bench, cheering him on at every match, he thinks it. When he watches him walk down the runway at fashion shows, he thinks it. And the morning after their dinner, when he sees the pictures of the two of them at Rosso’s, leaving after a delicious meal and holding hands with satisfied smiles on their faces, he thinks it. In fact, the fact that he is so lucky is generally the only thing on his mind.


End file.
